


This Is The Start

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s10e14 The Executioner's Song, First Kiss, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 21:03:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They end up driving to Junction City for the groceries. It’s a two-hour drive, half of which Cas spends playing Taylor Swift songs. Dean sits on his hand so he won’t drum his fingers or do something equally embarrassing. Cas, on the other hand, mouths some of the words and even ‘sings’ a line or two in his low, serious voice, and when he looks to him pointedly at a lyric about James Dean, Dean laughs so hard that they have to switch to a radio station - much to Cas’ disappointment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is The Start

**Author's Note:**

> Written for jensneackles' request on Tumblr. The title is a lyric from the song "At The Beginning" by Richard Marx.

It takes Dean exactly three hours and forty-one minutes to fall asleep.

He knows because he watches the numbers change on the clock, bright red turning from eight to nine to zero and then- Then come the nightmares, filled with broken screams. Blood splattered everywhere, on Crowley,  _Sam_ , the angel blade in Cas’ chest and no, Dean has to  _wake up_ , he’s got to…

The lamp is still on when he gasps awake, having sweated through his shirt and breathing ragged as he tries to blink. In his haze, he reaches out, grabbing onto whatever he can reach, and he’s surprised that it feels much more solid than some crumpled sheets.

_Cas_ , his mind supplies, Cas’ arm, sans trench coat, shirt sleeve rolled up to reveal his forearms. He stirs - he’d been sleeping? - instinctively curling his hand around Dean’s. He twitches a bit before opening his eyes, a crazy-vivid blue that somehow calms and ignites all at once. They take a little while to focus on Dean’s face, but when they do, Cas smiles - slow, sweet, barely there but obvious to Dean.

“You sleep,” Dean states quietly, and they’re still lying there, face-to-face, like this is some rom-com and they’re having a moment. He’s suddenly curious whether Cas has even seen a chick flick.

“Yes, I sleep,” Cas is answering him, and his voice is so gravelly that Dean can feel it where they touch. He hasn’t moved his hand, he realizes now. It’s sandwiched between Cas’ arm and Cas’ hand and it’d be awkward to pull away. So he doesn’t. He finds it weird how not weird that is.

“Guess we’re both gettin’ old, huh?” he laughs, sounding hollow. Cas does that soft, indulgent thing with his eyes like he can see right through the self-deprecation. He probably can.

“Well. I  _did_  have my mid-life crisis, as you called it.” Cas tap, tap, taps his fingertips on Dean’s hand, and the skin must feel clammy but he doesn’t seem to care. It’s almost comical how domestic this is, like they’re some old married couple lounging in bed, sharing mundane details about their day.

That isn’t the case, of course. Something so uncomplicated could never be their story. Dean still has the Mark, Dean just  _killed_  Cain, and Cas is an angel who’s literally draining himself to help. ‘Your pet angel,’ his memory sneers. Cas frowns when Dean tightens his grip as though in pain.

“Dean?”

Cas shifts closer until Dean is practically leaning into him, and Dean wonders how Cas became one of just two people he’d be this comfortable with. Then again, Cas has always been an exception.

“Dean,” Cas prompts softly. His hand moves to settle above Dean’s hip, and it’s warm even through his clothes. Dean keeps his own palm where it is, the intimacy making his heart stutter on its next beat.

“I… I don’t- What do you think’s gonna happen with me, Cas?”

He feels a sigh brush his temple, ruffling his hair. “You will get through this,” he hears, firm and sincere. “I’ll make sure of it, Dean, if it’s the last thing that-”

“No,” Dean cuts him off, because his eyes are prickling and he can’t  _have that_. “No talking about ‘lasts,’ alright? S’bad luck or something.” He stares at Cas’ tie, pretending to count the stripes. Blue, grey, blue, then grey. “Plus, I was kidding when I said you were old.”

There’s another huff against his skin, and it sounds lighter, a little less burdened. “I  _am_  old,” Cas says, his tone implying that he hasn’t taken the comment literally. Dean supposes they’re past that stage. Cas texts, after all, and uses emoticons. How times have changed.

“I was thinking… that perhaps I could stay a while.”

Cas says this carefully, like he’s gauging Dean’s reaction, which makes something twist indignantly in Dean’s stomach because  _of course_  Cas can stay. Damn it, he’s  _family_. Doesn’t he know that? But Cas changes the subject before Dean gets a chance to retort, and the question that soon hangs between them is “Are you hungry, Dean? You slept through several meals.”

And now that Cas mentions it, Dean finds that he’s totally famished.

He wants to trudge into the kitchen and eat whatever they’ve got in the fridge. He also wants to stay and let Cas’ warmth just radiate around him. He’s torn between moving and the current inertia that seems so perfect, and then, in a fit of randomness, Dean is overcome with the desire to leave.

“Let’s go somewhere,” he says, sort of breathless.

Cas pulls back so that their eyes can meet. “Where would you like to go?”

Dean shrugs, glad that the movement doesn’t jostle Cas’ hand from his waist. “I don’t care. I just want to feel normal for a change. Remind me what normal people do again?”

Cas smiles ruefully; only in their world would a human ask that of a former ‘wave of celestial intent.’

“I believe normal people frequent grocery stores,” Cas says, “and maybe the hardware store or the post office. It’d presumably vary depending on the errand.”

“Oh, right, I remember,” Dean hums, and with a great deal of reluctance, drags himself into a sitting position. It’s colder already and he feels like a sap. “I’m gonna get cleaned up,” he says, nudging Cas’ hand. “Then we’ll go buy some microwavable lasagna and act like I’m not a… you know.”

“You  _aren’t_  that to begin with, Dean.” Cas’ brows knit briefly together, then straighten when he relents enough to say, “Don’t forget vegetables. Ketchup doesn’t count.”

“You and Sam, I swear to god.” Dean rolls his eyes as he climbs out of bed. His legs feel like jelly for a moment but he regains his balance before turning around. “You’re driving, by the way.”

“So I get to pick the music?”

Smart ass. Dean would grin if it weren’t for the cuts on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll put in earplugs or something.”

“Don’t worry,” Cas assures him, reaching for his phone on the nightstand. “Sam informed me about your preference for Taylor Swift. I’ve… ‘got you covered.’”

Dean groans the entire way to the bathroom.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

They end up driving to Junction City for the groceries. It’s a two-hour drive, half of which Cas spends playing Taylor Swift songs. Dean sits on his hand so he won’t drum his fingers or do something equally embarrassing. Cas, on the other hand, mouths some of the words and even ‘sings’ a line or two in his low, serious voice, and when he looks to him pointedly at a lyric about James Dean, Dean laughs so hard that they have to switch to a radio station - much to Cas’ disappointment.

Their first stop is a CVS, where Dean strolls down the aisles while Cas follows with a basket. They linger the longest in the shampoo and body wash aisle because Dean insists that they smell everything. To be fair, what  _is_  Love Affair supposed to smell like anyway? Cas concludes that it reminds him of roses.

“We’re buying real food at the next place,” Cas says as they leave, and Dean merely swings his bag filled with clearance Valentine’s candy and a bottle of Fiery Passion shampoo for Sam.

(“How does it smell?” Dean had asked in the store.

“Cloying,” Cas replied and Dean laughed triumphantly as he dropped it in the basket.)

They get distracted halfway to Walmart, when Dean spots a Cracker Barrel and remembers that his stomach’s still grumbling. Once in the restaurant, he orders himself a BLT, but finishes only half of it before reaching for Cas’ burger.

“God, this bacon’s amazing,” he groans. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cas watching him, amused, chin resting on his hand. “Can we get some from their store?”

“You don’t need my permission, Dean,” Cas says earnestly. He moves a soda can out of the way so Dean won’t knock it over with his elbow.

“Sure,” Dean huffs. “You’re saying you won’t come after me for not buying rabbit food?”

Cas sighs and shakes his head, pulling a few napkins from the dispenser sitting on their table. He hands them to Dean, who wipes his mouth with a bit more force than necessary, and replies, “I know better than to come between you and your bacon.”

“Damn right.”

Cas sighs again - a tad melodramatic, Dean might add - but true to his word, he doesn’t protest when Dean emerges from the grocery with five packets of pork. He does make Dean accompany him to the décor store as some sort of quid pro quo, and promptly falls in love with a wooden frog birdhouse that he can’t seem to return to the shelf.

“It’s very cute,” he says, holding the thing and admiring it this way and that. “The description says he’ll sit quietly in your garden.”

“We don’t have a garden, Cas,” Dean tries to reason, but his lips are twitching upward and Cas is giving him these puppy dog eyes that are even harder to resist than Sam’s.

“He could sit quietly in the library,” Cas proposes, and that officially marks the end of their discussion.

They probably look a little silly, what with Cas cradling the birdhouse and all, except they run into two old ladies who call it “absolutely precious” and offer them advice on which bird feed to use.

“Alright, Beth,” one of the women says eventually. “Let’s not keep the boys too long. I’m sure they’re in a hurry to get home.” She’s tiny with her grey hair tied in a bun, and her small yet knowing smile makes the skin flash hot on Dean’s face.

“Of course, silly me,” her friend laughs. “Oh, but you two are just darling. Aren’t they, Martha?”

Cas beams at that, totally unassuming, but Dean locks eyes with Martha again and it’s enough to have him steer Cas out of the store. Well, not before bidding the ladies a good day. He wasn’t raised in a barn.

“To Walmart then?” Cas asks once they’re back in his car. The birdhouse is nestled safely in the backseat and it suddenly crosses Dean’s mind how  _easy_  this all feels.

“Yeah,” he replies, trying to ignore the stupid lump in his throat. Cas studies him for a moment - he’s been doing that a lot lately, more than usual, and Dean supposes for good reason - but he doesn’t pry as he pulls out of the parking lot and, for that, Dean is really grateful.

“Sam texted me earlier,” Cas informs him when they grab one of Walmart’s gigantic carts. “He asked that we pick up eggs, canned V8 juice, and salad mixes.”

“Ugh,” Dean wrinkles his nose. He can still recall the taste of raw kale - a terrible, scarring memory.

“I could come meet you in a different aisle?”

Dean nods immediately and scans the signs at lightning speed. “Cereal. That’s a safe one. I’ll wait there.” He lets Cas take the cart and would be embarrassed to admit how long he stands there, watching Cas walk away with his trench coat swirling around his legs.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters to himself, then quickly turns on his heels into the nearest aisle.

The store is a little too bright and obscenely large, though those are the qualities that make it a decent distraction. By the time Castiel finds him, the contents of his cart mostly green and healthy, Dean’s already got a box of Fruit Loops in his hand, about to reach for a value-sized Cheerios.

“What are Fruity Floats?” Cas wants to know, and he raises a box with a cartoon bear swimming in milk.

Dean shrugs and places his cereals in the cart. “They’re like fake Fruit Loops.”

Cas comes closer at that, glancing between the two different brands. “They certainly look the same.”

“Sure, but they don’t taste the same.”

“I see.” Cas moves to set the Fruity Floats back, though something catches his eye before he can. “Fruit-Rings?” He’s frowning as he takes a box off the shelf. “Dean, this is also… What is the point of…?”

He looks so damn perplexed that Dean begins to laugh, because he’s missed this side of Cas and the accompanying expressions he always finds endearing. He takes a step closer right as Cas turns around, and then they’re chest-to-chest again with Cas pinned between Dean and the merchandise.

“Oh, um.”

Dean has no clue why he doesn’t just move; all he has to do is take a step back. But Cas is looking at him with those pretty blue eyes, wide and nervous and maybe expectant. They’ve been here before, on the cusp of something more without enough (courage? initiative?) to push them over. He worried too much, every time, let circumstance and self-doubt hold him back. Now, with that ugliness marring his skin and knowing that he could hurt Cas - hurt him  _irreversibly_  - Dean feels the clock tick more loudly than ever and it’s the last shove he needs to accept what was meant to be.

“Dean.”

Cas’ voice is so soft, so concerned. It pulls a sharp, breathy-wet laugh from Dean’s throat because what did he ever do to deserve that kind of devotion?

“Cas…” he calls in a whisper, and up close like this he can see how exhausted Cas is too. His chapped pink lips. The neglected stubble along his jaw. There are signs of tension and restlessness but Cas isn’t focused on himself. He never is when it comes to Dean.

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas’ lips part, just minutely, while his gaze continues to search Dean’s face. “We could leave if-”

Dean doesn’t let him finish, thinks that this is it - that he can’t chicken out again. So he crowds his best friend against the shelves, closing the already impossibly small space between them. He brings both of his hands up to cradle Cas’ face then leans in, in… until he’s kissing his angel and it’s really, painfully  _perfect_.

Cas gasps when their lips meet, and Dean hears the faint noise of cardboard and grains hitting the floor. Then there are hands clutching his jacket, pulling and pulling and Dean is more than willing to follow. Their hips press together with the barest of pressures, and it makes Dean  _want_  like he never has in his entire life. It isn’t just lust, or a fleeting infatuation. He wants kisses, ridiculous shopping trips; he wants the flaws, the fights, the lame phone calls. He wants the road, the bunker, them against the world.

He wants Cas.

“God, I’m so in love with you,” he breathes, and it’s incredible, the weight that leaves his chest with the confession.

They’re both hesitant when they move apart, Cas’ lips red and swollen and Dean imagines his aren’t any better. He runs his thumb over Cas’ cheek and relishes how those dark lashes flutter in response.

“Dean,” Cas murmurs, “is this… Do you mean it?”

He sounds unsure, and Dean wants to gather him up in his arms and never let go. So he smiles, in a way he hopes is reassuring, then shifts forward to do just that, dropping his answer in the crook of Cas’ neck.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Oh,” Cas breathes out in what sounds like relief, and he relaxes into Dean’s embrace like he belongs there. Dean, of course, is fully convinced that he does.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“How do you not care that I’m… a monster?” His voice nearly fails him partway through the question.

“… Nothing- There is  _nothing_  in this world that could dissuade me from loving you.” Cas’ breath is hot against his ear, words rough with emotion, “and this- You’re free to change your mind, Dean, whenever you wish. But… but until then, and after, I’ll be here. I can promise you that.”

“I won’t,” Dean raises his head, because he wants to be looking at Cas when he says it. “I won’t change my mind. Not about this. You’re stuck with me, man. Gonna buy you all the birdhouses you want.”

Cas’ eyes go soft and, Christ, they’re really beautiful.

“Well, how could I refuse an offer like that?” he says, and Dean wonders if he’s allowed to be this happy.

“Don’t refuse then,” he replies, reaching for Cas’ hand. He presses a kiss to the corner of Cas’ mouth and feels less like a broken man when Cas says, “Okay.”

They leave the store shortly afterward, hands clasped together and unable to think about much else. At least they got what Sam asked for, plus all three varieties of Fruit Loops at Cas’ behest, and when Dean climbs into the passenger seat of the Continental, he realizes that the Mark hasn’t troubled him in hours.

He knows it will eventually, throb and push and weaken till he submits. He’s scared shitless because he isn’t strong enough, because ‘I’ll fight it’ isn’t the same as ‘I know how to fight it’ and he sure as hell has no idea  _how_. But then Cas reaches over the console, taking his hand and threading their fingers tight. It’s warm and secure and Dean, despite all his fears, believes that as long as he holds onto Cas, there’s a part of his soul he could never lose.

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable link here](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/112441574095/dean-cas-this-is-the-start)
> 
> Do leave me kudos, comments, and love! Your feedback always makes my day. :)


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